


By Tomorrow We'll Be Lost

by WiinterIsNotComing



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Clarke, Everyone's a badass, Multi, Violence, a bit of Clexa, boxer!Bellamy, lots of fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:05:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WiinterIsNotComing/pseuds/WiinterIsNotComing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I would tell you everything,” he murmured against her skin, “if you asked.”</p><p>She swallowed and stared at the ceiling. “Even if it got you killed?”</p><p>He pulled away to look at her. “Oh Clarke.” He breathed out. “Being near you is enough to get me killed.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Tomorrow We'll Be Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a 5k fic about Clarke recovering from an accident and it turned into an action-y, crime ridden, dramatic 17k piece full of angst and sadness. Let’s just say Daredevil got to me, Bellamy became a boxer, they developed a backstory and the thing grew a mind of it’s own and I have lost all hope in its quality.
> 
> One or two of the scenes in this are similar to ones from Daredevil, so I take no credit for that.
> 
> Also, I do not personally know anyone who is blind, nor do I know the first thing about unlicensed boxing. I'm assuming they're allowed to get hit in the face a lot. Because people in this get hit in the face a lot. This is all going off of common knowledge or internet research, feel free to let me know if there's something vastly wrong with my unreliable facts.
> 
> Title from Tomorrow by Daughter. Just listen to every single one of their songs and try not to think about these two. Go forth and conquer, friends.

_After_

 

“Well somebody has to do something.”

“She’ll come around when she does, leave it alone.”

“It’s been two _weeks_.”

“And it could be two years for all we know. Either way, it doesn’t matter. She’ll take as long as she needs.”

Incoherent mumbling followed, most likely Octavia spouting quiet insults and protests. But whatever Raven said held her back from bursting into Clarke’s room and insisting she get up. Clarke could almost picture it, Octavia cocking her head to the side, face scrunched up in judgment as she asked, “Going to stop being a lazy bitch?” and then tugging her out of bed when she answered, no.

She could see every last detail, down to the chipped paint on the walls and the contour of lighting on Octavia’s cheekbones. How she’d drawn that girl’s facial structure so many times before. Her sketchbooks were filled with it. From first glance you’d think she was Clarke’s muse. 

A sickening feeling developed in her stomach as she remembered all the unfinished drawings that would never be completed, ones she’d gotten impatient with and had thrown her sketchbook across the room because of. She would forget about them for a month before even considering opening it back up to that page and trying to continue. It was a terrible technique, she knew. “You’re an artist, not a fucking writer.” As stated by Raven, but it worked for her.

“What do you want?” The woman asked suddenly. Clarke almost jumped at the sound of her voice, but her body felt too exhausted to even twitch. She was so tired.

“I wanna sleep.” Clarke muffled into her pillow. She heard Raven sigh and take a step into the room. 

“It’s two PM, Clarke.” She sounded concerned. They all sounded so fucking concerned. Two weeks was long enough for her to start memorizing the tones of voices. Seeing someone talk while they were nervous was one thing. Being forced to purely listen led to the sound of their voice being engrained into her mind. It made her eardrums want to burst.

“I don’t care.” She said and tugged a blanket over her head. She felt the heat instantly cover her skin. Raven scoffed.

“Look, I get it dude, and you can mope in bed for the rest of your life for all I care, but you’re not going to go back to sleep. I’ll make you some coffee.” She heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room and padding down the hallway towards the kitchen. Quiet voices ensued. Unfortunately, she didn’t have super hearing, not yet at least. It had after all only been two weeks and already her hearing had improved vastly.

And smell. God, the smells in the world were awful. 

As if on instinct her nose wrinkled up in distaste. She hadn’t showered in two days and was starting to smell ripe. Her hair felt heavy against her scalp, skin oily on her forehead and nose. Showering used to be a luxury. Now it felt like a chore.

Raven brought her coffee and helped her sit up in bed. She kept her company while she drank it. At one point some of the hot liquid spilled over and splashed lightly on her pants. Raven simply dabbed it with a tissue and wiped the side of the mug, keeping a hand on Clarke’s wrist to prevent her from making any sudden movements.

“You awake now?” She asked after the cup was empty and Clarke’s bladder full. Clarke nodded.

Raven was silent. Clarke could hear her twirling the mug around in her hands. “Do you need to pee?” She asked after a minute.

Clarke shrugged. She could guess Raven’s eyes were narrowing.

“I’m not a fucking mind reader, Clarke. Do you need to use the bathroom?” Her voice was frustrated, obviously. While Octavia was annoyed with Clarke’s ongoing habit of hiding in her bedroom, Raven was the one out of all of them putting up with Clarke’s shit the least.

_“You’re going to have to start asking people for help whether you like it or not. Time to get over it and build yourself a damn brace, Clarke.”_

“Okay, yeah, I need to pee.” Clarke grumbled. There was the small thunk as Raven set the mug down on the side table, and then the rustling of blankets as Clarke’s body met cool air. 

“Alright, Daredevil, up you go.” Her hands wrapped around her arms and tugged her up. She stumbled, but Raven steadied her and dragged her forward. “You need a shower.” She added when she smelled Clarke’s hair. 

“I know.” She said.

When she was done peeing, Raven simply turned the shower on and started helping her remove her clothes. 

“You showered this morning.” Clarke protested.

“And now I need to shower again to wash off the putrid smell of you.” Raven replied. Clarke cracked a smile. 

So far Raven had been the only person to help her in the hygiene department. Probably because they lived together, therefore had seen each other naked practically all the time. Sometimes during the summer they slept in the same bed when there weren’t enough electric fans, stark nude and uncaring. 

At first she tried to take baths, but now whenever she surrounded herself with water, even in a single tub, she felt as if she were drowning. So when Clarke shyly told her she needed help showering, Raven simply stripped down and said, “Let’s do this.” 

She helped her locate the shampoo, picked up any bottles that tumbled off the side and onto the bottom of the tub. The part that was the most difficult was when she washed her body. Raven was merciless though. She scrubbed Clarke’s skin until it was raw, lifted her arms to wash beneath them. Their boundaries before had barely existed. Now they had disappeared entirely.

When she was clean with damp hair and dressed in fresh clothes, Raven sat her on the couch in the living room and put on the Ben Howard Pandora station. She hadn’t watched a movie at all in the whole time she’d been recovering. If Raven had, it was with earphones on her laptop. Clarke wanted to tell her it was fine, but in truth she was selfish and couldn’t handle the thought of listening to something that was meant to have images. 

“Who wants pizza?” Octavia asked in place of saying something about Clarke’s unfamiliar spot on the couch. Raven must’ve given her a death glare when she brought her into the room. 

“Pepperoni and olives?” Clarke asked. 

“Of course, you freak.” She could hear the smirk in Octavia’s voice. “Usual for you?” She asked Raven. She must have nodded, because then Octavia was talking on the phone placing the order and asking for extra marinara sauce for their breadsticks.

A moment later she heard the clattering of dishes in the kitchen. This time, she could just barely make out their voices. “Is Bellamy coming tonight?” Raven asked softly.

“He has a boxing match.”

“So he is.”

There was a pause. “Yeah,” Octavia said, more to herself than to Raven, “I guess so.”

A plate clanged against the counter. “He wanted to come over yesterday. Had to tell him she needed space.”

“Are you sure that was the right thing to do?” Octavia asked. “He’s the only person she seems not to constantly hate being around right now.”

“That’s because he doesn’t treat her as if she’s blind.” Raven snapped, increasing in volume. They both went quiet as they probably looked to see if Clarke had heard. Unfortunately for them, it wasn’t exactly easy to tell.

“I just wished I knew what was going on inside her head.” Octavia said eventually.

“Join the club, O.” 

At eight pm she told Raven she wanted to sleep, and her friend didn’t protest. It took five minutes to get from the couch to the bedroom, Raven insisting that she try to do it by herself. It was torturous, her body protested at every movement, but she forced through it and collapsed onto the bed as soon as her knees hit the side. 

Raven pulled a blanket over her before saying, “O’s sleeping on the couch. She’s not sure if Bellamy’s stopping by.”

“It’s okay.” Clarke said and nuzzled her face into the pillow.

She could feel Raven watching her a moment, and then departing footsteps and the door being pulled until it was just barely open. They never closed doors anymore.

~.~

She heard the creaking of the door, and felt the slight pressure of light from the hall on her eyelids. On instinct, she cracked them open.

“Sorry.” He said softly. “Just checking to make sure you’re alright.”

“It’s okay.” She whispered. “How was the match?”

“Terrible.”

“Did you win?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “Of course you did.”

“Everyone was asking where you were. Miller misses you.” He was smiling too; she could hear it in his voice.

“I miss him.” Clarke mumbled and tilted her head up. “You crashing here?”

“I was going to sleep in the chair in the living room.” He shifted nervously, clothes scraping against the doorway. 

She pushed herself up. “Can you sleep here instead?” It came out more like a command rather than a question. For a second she sounded like her old self.

After a moment he released a rush of breath. “Yeah, sure.” He toed off his shoes and seconds later was slipping into the bed beside her. She felt the fabric of his sweatpants against her calves. Wordlessly, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and brought it over his chest, his other arm curving around her waist. She hitched her leg up against his hip. 

Normal. It felt unfamiliar to them, but still normal.

“You got any poetry in that head of yours?” She asked, lips moving against his shirt. She heard the slow, calm beating of his heart, felt the rise of his chest as he breathed.

“Only the stuff I’ve already told you.” He teased.

She hummed in thought. “What about the Sylvia Plath one?”

“There’s more than one.”

“The one with the moon.”

“That one’s depressing.” He mused.

“I’m a depressing person.” She said.

“Fair enough.” He sighed and shifted slightly. His hand began running through her hair. She closed her eyes at the feeling as he began to speak.

“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.

You leave the same impression  
Of something beautiful, but annihilating…”

 

_Before_

 

The warehouse (or the fighting pit as they liked to call it) was dark and stuffy, making her lungs thick and breathes short. She grasped Raven’s arm as if her life depended on it.

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this.” She said loudly over the noise.

“You wanted to come.” Raven shot back over her shoulder. “What was it you said? ‘Someone has to make sure you don’t get killed?’”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left you to clean your wounds in a STD ridden bathroom.” Clarke insisted.

Raven stopped to look at her, eyebrows raised and lips quirked up in amusement. “And it has nothing to do with Lexa?”

Clarke shoved her. “Keep walking.”

Raven with her arms of steel pushed her way through the crowd and up to the ring in the center of the room. “She and I are up tonight.” She told her, slipping into serious mode. “I mean, we manage to not let it define our personal lives, but she’s almost killed someone before.”

“And you haven’t?”

“That was one time, Clarke. She’s fucking terrifying.” She said dramatically and then knocked her hip against hers. “Wait here, I’m gonna say hi to Octavia.”

She slipped along the side of the ring to where a girl with thick eyeliner and braided brown hair hung off the edge, elbows resting on the ropes and eyes focusing on the two men punching at each other under the spotlight. When she spotted Raven a dark grin broke out across her face and she grasped the other brunette’s hand tightly. 

Raven murmured something that made Octavia’s eyes land on Clarke. Her smile softened, and she nodded at whatever Raven was saying. The noise of a fist meeting flesh caused her to fling her head around and sharply observe the fighting at hand. A bald man with tattoos covering his body hit his opponent square in the jaw. 

He had him down within seconds, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his face as the referee lifted his arm up as the winner. Immediately he was being pushed into the corner and a tall man with intense facial hair was wiping the blood off his skin. Despite all the large muscles and face tattoo, he was gentle.

“Alright, you ready to taste the life of being a cutman?” Raven was back at her side.

Raven in the ring was merciless. Despite the viciousness of her opponent, the girl who may or may not have been the reason Clarke came in the first place, she used her stealth and light feet to her advantage. Lexa put up a good fight, at one point even getting Raven down for a second, but in the end Raven was hitting her straight in the nose and you could almost hear the cracking of bone over the shouting crowd. 

When it’s over Raven, smothered in sweat with a bruise developing on her jaw, held out her hand and said, “Good game?” to Lexa.

Lexa glanced down at the hand for a moment before taking it. “Good game.” She replied and grinned through bloody teeth.

It should not have turned Clarke on, not at all.

“That it for the night?” She asked as she wiped the blood above Raven’s brow.

“One more fight.” Raven shook her head. “You’re going to want to see it.”

“I’ve had my share of blood and violence tonight, Reyes.” 

“Trust me, Clarke.” Raven gripped her arm. “You’ll wanna see this.”

Apparently, it was two of their best fighters going up against each other. She hadn’t known that was what the big fuss was all about, but people had been betting on it for weeks. 

And they were bouncing off the walls. The second the two fighters made their way into the ring everyone exploded with anticipation. Octavia was holding one’s face between her thumb and fingers, forcing him to look at her as she spoke to him. His dark eyes never left her, drinking in every word she said. It put an odd feeling in Clarke’s chest.

The bald man from before was there, now in jeans and a t-shirt standing off to the side. He watched as Octavia and the other man talked. 

“Lincoln.” Raven said into her ear. “He’s a fighter and trainer. Used to be a legend, but he can’t box much anymore. Tonight was a special occasion.”

“What, is it the annual unlicensed boxing holiday or something?” Clarke muttered loud enough for her friend to hear.

Octavia let go of the man and pushed him away from the ropes. He rolled his neck, dark hair falling out of his eyes.

“So who’s he?” Clarke nudged her chin in his direction. Raven followed.

“Bellamy. Octavia’s brother. Sort of a psychopath.” She informed her with a hint of admiration. 

“And he’s one of the ‘best?’”

Raven watched her, eyes flitting across her face as if to try and catch a reaction. “Yeah, something like that.”

She could see it. While most boxers had one particular fighting style, such as brawling or counter punching, he was one who combined techniques and used that to his advantage. It was nerve-wracking to watch as he and the other fighter battled it out, because while he was good, the other seemed to be slightly better.

Where Bellamy was a slugger, his opponent was a counter-puncher, quick on his feet and fast. At one point, it seemed Bellamy had the upper hand. But that point left just as quickly as it came. Lincoln had to force him into the corner to get the blood off his face while his trainer, a man with cropped hair and angry eyes shouted into his ear. Then he was jumping back in, absolutely relentless. 

It was a close call, lasted so long Raven thought one of them was going to have to give up for it to be over. Eventually though, Bellamy got a blow to the head and he stumbled. There was the sound of his body hitting the floor, and he was done. 

Clarke didn’t really know what she was doing, running up to climb through the ropes and into the ring. Maybe it was habit, or maybe the sound of his head snapping against the ground made her choke. Octavia was there in an instant, hands cupping his face as she said his name. She was relatively calm, probably because it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“Get him up.” Clarke said, and Octavia sort of sagged in defeat, but without question she stood, slinging one of his arms over her shoulders. Clarke got the other, and the whole crowd watched as two petite girls dragged their defeated fighter out of the ring.

When they laid him down in the backroom, Octavia flitting around to find a first-aid kit while the others talked in low voices, she felt a large hand wrap around her wrist.

“Who’re you?” A slurred voice asked. She looked up and saw Bellamy staring at her through hooded eyes. 

She pushed his raised head down. “Clarke.” She said quietly. 

His eyes closed.

 

_After_

 

He pulled her out of bed. “Let’s go get coffee.”

She tugged at the hands holding her arms. “I’m tired.”

“That’s why we’re getting coffee.” He said and released her. “We’ll go to Floyds, just like old times.”

Just like old times. That was a common phrase lately. When he came over to lie in bed next to her without asking and simply read aloud while she pretended to be asleep. Octavia walked into the room at one point, probably taking one look at them before saying flatly, “So we’re back to this now, aren’t we?”

He hadn’t replied.

Just like old times, except there wouldn’t be any more visits to the boxing gym, or the fighting pit, or the city museum downtown. She couldn’t clean his injuries after a fight anymore; she could barely walk five feet without bumping into something. It’ll get better, everyone told her. Shut up, she wanted to say.

But he didn’t assure her or tell her it was all going to be okay. He didn’t mention anything. It wasn’t denial, or avoidance. Instead it was just he completely allowing himself to become the distraction, the person who helped her without making her feel, well, blind.

He was suddenly pulling her pajama shirt over her head. “You want the green Henley or the blue button up?” He asked as he rustled around her clothes. 

“Green Henley, I guess.” She shrugged and let the cool air nip at her skin. He silently lifted her arms and tugged the shirt over her head.

“Dark grey jeans?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” She said plainly.

“Dark grey jeans it is.” He said under his breath. Before he could pull off her shorts she did it herself, almost afraid of what would happen if she let him touch her bare legs.

“I’ll do it.” She held out her hands to empty air, waiting for him to place the jeans in them. He was silent, studying her most likely.

“Bellamy.” She bit out. 

He put the jeans in her hands. 

She fell back onto the bed while she tried to pull them on. He asked from a few feet away if she needed help, multiple times. When she said no, he would simply wait until she made a loud noise of frustration before asking again.

If it were Raven, she’d be shoving Clarke down onto the bed and pulling the jeans up within seconds. Bellamy helped without asking, but he didn’t force it on her.

_He doesn’t treat her as if she’s blind._

He helped her into her shoes, handed her a jacket to put on. When she felt glasses being slid onto her face, she flinched at the sensation.

He paused. “What is it?” His fingers held the glasses, touching her cheeks and temples lightly.

“I just-haven’t had a reason to use them yet, I guess.” She said quietly.

“Yeah, well, you’re going to want them now.” He finished pushing them on. “Not a cloud in the sky today.”

“Great.” She mumbled. 

She hadn’t had to deal with light sensitivity, seeing as she hadn’t been outside yet. She could feel and sense the lights in the apartment, but never so much that it made her head ache. 

“You want your cane or do you want me to just cling to you like a spider monkey?” He asked.

“I’ll bring it just in case.” She said, and he grabbed her hand and wrapped it around the folded up cane that was now her beacon of light.

She was the one who ended up clinging to him like a spider monkey. Her arm wound around his and she wouldn’t let go if her life depended on it. Raven was at work, Octavia went back to her place hours ago, so neither of them were there when she felt the warm sun hit her face for the first time in what felt like a century. 

“Raven will be pissed.” She said thoughtfully. He shook with soft laughter.

“I think she’ll just be relieved you left the apartment, even if it was with me.”

“She likes you.”

“She used to.” He said darkly.

They walked along the sidewalk, and the noise was almost too much for her. The smells made her nose burn. She would be surprised if she made it through this without crying.

“And she will again. Just give it time.” Clarke said, being the assuring one for a change.

She stayed with him when he ordered their coffee and a cheese Danish for her. She told him it was to make sure he didn’t mess up her order. Really she just didn’t want to sit by herself at the table and wait for him to come back. 

She felt so _weak._

They sat in comfortable silence, Clarke making a mess of herself as she tried to eat the Danish neatly and in the end gave up, allowing powdered sugar and cheese to line the sides of her mouth. She heard him chuckle when she sat there with a scowl on her face.

“I know there is cheese on my face, and I really don’t care.” She slumped against the seat.

“It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

His cup touched the surface of the table, cardboard against wood. Something that sounded like the Lumineers played in the background. A woman was making an appointment with a dermatologist. The barista ground coffee behind the counter.

Her senses felt like they were on fire.

She took a large sip of coffee and tried to calm down. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked suddenly.

“No.” 

“Okay.”

“Can we leave?” She said so quietly she wasn’t sure he’d hear. But his chair scraped against the floor and he was lifting her out of her own.

“Home?” He wrapped an arm around her.

“Home.” She pressed her face against his chest.

 

Before

 

“What is she doing here?” Bellamy growled at Raven the second Clarke walked into the room.

“Relax, Bell.” Octavia drawled from the center of the boxing ring. “She’s not here to check your fractured ribs that you’re too stubborn to get looked at.” She hit the blockers covering Lincoln’s hands. “Lexa’s in the back, Clarke.” She told her without missing a beat.

“Thanks.” Clarke smiled at nodded at Raven before making her way across the gym. She was about to slip into the hallway when she ran into a man’s chest. 

“Sorry.” She stumbled back a step. He had a stoic expression on his face, looking oddly unaffected. She’d seen him somewhere before.

“No problem.” He was about to step around her when he squinted. “You’re the cutman.”

She shifted nervously. “Not necessarily.”

“You stirred up a few rumors after you dragged Blake off the boxing ring last week.” He crossed his arms. “You a certified doctor?”

Oh, she remembered him. He was Bellamy’s angry trainer. “Try med school dropout.”

He ran a tongue over his lips. “You did good, dealing with him. He usually ends up punching a cutman in the face.”

“He said I was fragile.” She tucked her hands into her back jean pockets.

“That’s just because he didn’t want to admit someone had managed to stitch him up without getting hit. Believe me, you should’ve seen the last time Anya tried to fix him up. It ended badly.”

Anya, the terrifying cat-eyed woman who was Lexa’s best friend and trainer. She was quite scary to look at, but she sort of nodded in respect at Clarke whenever she saw her, so.

“You ever think about doing it as a normal thing?” The man asked.

“What? Cleaning blood off of Bellamy’s face and hoping he doesn’t kill me?” She raised a brow.

“Well, when you put it that way.” He shifted, but a small smile appeared on his lips. 

“I don’t know.” She sighed and glanced over to wear Bellamy was, in the center of the ring now sparring with Raven. Unlike that night last week, he flowed smoothly, light on his feet and dodging Raven’s swift lunges. She found herself unable to look away. That is until the guy cleared his throat.

“So?” He asked nervously.

“Raven has been talking about dragging me to another one of these things.” She said finally. She forced her eyes away from the ring and looked at the stranger instead. “If I happen to come at a night when he’s fighting, I’ll help out.”

He grinned, the change from all composed and stoic to excited surprising her. He held out his hand. “Miller, Blake’s trainer.”

She held out hers. “Clarke, female boxer groupie.”

She almost got a laugh out of him, _almost._

~.~

She was making out with Lexa up against the warehouse wall, tasting blood on her lips and repeating in her head, _this does not turn me on, it so does not_ -and then Lexa ran her tongue over her lip and all she can think is _fuck._

“Clarke!” A voice shouted into the night. She pulled away from Lexa reluctantly, who leaned her head against the brick wall and sighed. “Duty calls.” She said with a smirk.

Clarke glared. The voice yelled her name again.

She growled and pushed away from the wall. “What?” She yelled back. A figure appeared around the corner, tall and brooding.

“Octavia’s fucked up.” Bellamy said sharply.

“Great.” She sighed and without another word headed towards him.

“How’s it going, Blake?” Lexa called.

“Shitty.” He called back, but there was a hint of respect behind his voice. Despite their common rivalry, they seemed to have a small, hidden friendship beneath their rock hard personas.

“How bad is it?” Clarke asked him as they made their way inside.

“Not fatal, or anything.” He said lowly. “She might have a concussion, though.” He was quiet, vulnerable.

“Well, she’s tough, she’ll be fine.” She said it to assure him, but it also felt like she was assuring herself. The past two months of integrating into this partially illegal crowd was strange. She still felt like a stranger at times, but oddly enough, they had become her family. Although Bellamy still kept her at a distance. She tried to pretend it didn’t bother her.

Key word: tried.

“Yeah, I know.” He snapped. She stopped walking.

“You got a problem, Blake?” She cocked her head to the side, crossed her arms.

He stopped too, turning around slowly with darkened eyes. “We are not doing this right now-”

“No, we are.” She cut him off. “We are doing it right fucking now. I want to know what’s been so shoved up your ass you can barely look at me without the urge to hit something. I’m not an idiot.”

“You sure about that?” He rumbled. 

Her lips parted, eyes narrowing. “Did I do _something?_ To _offend_ you?”

He shifted his feet, looking her over. “You’re a Jaha.”

At that, her parted lips dropped to a complete O. “What?”

“Your mother is Abigail Griffin, wife of Thelonious Jaha, who just happens to be a notorious crime lord. Know anything about that?” He tilted his head back like a challenge. 

She studied her shoes, scuffed leather and loose laces. “No.” She said thinly.

When she glanced up, he was looking at her with fiery eyes that were trying to see beneath every inch of her skin. Shivers threatened to run down her spine.

“I don’t believe you.” He said.

She laughed drily. “Well that’s too fucking bad.”

She walked past him, leaving him to stare after her with an expression of curiosity and rage.

 

_After_

 

“Bellamy got you out?” Raven asked as she entered the apartment. Clarke was on the couch hugging a pillow.

“Yeah, for like ten minutes.” She said.

“But you actually went outside.” Raven prompted. She settled herself on the couch next to Clarke, allowing her feet to settle in her lap.

“I did.” Clarke confirmed. 

Raven played with Clarke’s sock covered feet. “Good.” She whispered. “That’s good.”

~.~

She didn’t know how Octavia did it, but somehow on a Saturday she was being dragged to the boxing gym.

Everyone knew she had been in hiding and why. She could hear the tension and pity in their voices, although Anya sounded respectful, Indra told her outright being blind only made her a stronger fighter, and Lincoln wrapped her up in the gentlest, most loving hug she’d probably ever received. 

“Welcome back.” He said in her ear. She squeezed his arm as thanks.

Octavia seated her at a table near the ring. Miller sat with her while she practiced Braille. He asked her questions, which letter was which; if she could smell what cologne he was wearing. It was habit for him, to challenge people no matter what the case. She felt as if she was getting boxing lessons from him. But, it felt nice.

“We’ve missed you.” He said while she ran her fingers over his calloused hand. She sort of grabbed it without permission, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I know.” She smiled. “Bellamy told me you’ve been lonely.”

He scoffed. “I’ve managed.”

She touched his face, something she was still getting used to doing. Touching someone to see who they were was strange. 

Her finger pressed against skin. He hissed quietly in pain.

“Bruise?” She asked, pulling her hand away.

“As usual.” He said.

She heard Anya grunt in frustration and Octavia let out a small cackle.

“Clarke?” A voice suddenly asked in shock. It echoed throughout the gym. She turned her head towards the sound.

“Hi.” She said nervously.

“What are you doing here?” He sounded as if he were in awe.

“I kidnapped her.” Octavia said breathlessly from the ring. “You’re not the only Blake who can get her out of the house.”

“Yeah, well at least she went voluntarily with me.” He teased. 

“Bellamy,” Miller called. “You’re late.”

“Sorry.” It was louder as he made his way over to where they were sitting. Then his hand was wrapping around the back of Clarke’s neck as he stood behind her, thumb rubbing a soft circle against her skin. Unfamiliar, but normal. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it.

“Once your sister is done annoying Anya, get in the ring.” Miller stood. “You’re training with Murphy today.” His turned stern. “Try not to kill him.”

“Can’t make any promises.” Bellamy’s thumb pressed against the top of her neck, right below her hairline. She had to bite her lip to suppress making noise.

When Miller’s footsteps departed, Bellamy leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. She could feel the heat of his skin. “How are you?” He asked quietly.

She found herself leaning closer to the sound of his voice. “I’m okay.” She replied, just as quiet.

“You’re not wearing your sunglasses.”

She shrugged. “We’re indoors.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Octavia joined her after Bellamy went up to the ring. She kicked her feet up onto the table, her presence loud. Before Clarke would’ve just found it charming. Now she felt relieved. Octavia pitied her the least out of everyone. Where Raven didn’t put up with her shit, Octavia didn’t treat her like fragile glass that could break any second. 

Bellamy may have made her feel normal, but his touches were soft, delicate, nothing like before, when he’d grip her hips so hard she bruised and scrape his teeth across her skin. It was so long ago, and she knew there wasn’t even a chance he’d ever touch her intimately again, but if he did, it’d be feather light and slow. 

She could only take so much gentleness before she broke.

“Read me something.” Octavia said.

Clarke ran her hands along the bumps on the pages. “It’s boring stuff, really…”

“Read to me.” She insisted, as if Clarke hadn’t spoken at all.

 

_Before_

 

“You’re an idiot.” Clarke dabbed the long cut on Bellamy’s cheek.

He let out a rush of breath as the alcohol met his skin. “Thanks, princess.” He ground out.

“What were you thinking?” She gave him the angriest glare she could. “That wasn’t the fucking pit. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“It’s not like I haven’t done this before.” He muttered.

She didn’t realize what exactly she was doing, grasping his chin between her fingers like that time Octavia had the first night she saw him. His lips parted when she forced him to look at her, all frizzy hair and anger in her veins.

“When you’re fighting outside that ring,” She said slowly, “there are no rules. People will do whatever it takes to win.” Her nails dig into his skin. “You winning tonight made you a target. You’re already playing with fire, fighting unlicensed. Now even more people are going to want you dead, you know that?”

His hand was grasping her wrist, tugging it away from his face and causing her to fall forward and bring them closer together. She felt his breath on her cheek, tasted the rage on her tongue.

“You don’t know anything about this world, princess.” He said, voice low and frighteningly calm. 

She herself was playing with fire, leaning in closer. “Weren’t you the one that assumed I knew about my stepfathers night job?”

“And you said you didn’t have a clue.” His hand tightened around her skin.

“And _you_ thought I was lying.” 

“Well, were you?” He challenged.

She stopped, feeling a rush of cold air and suddenly realizing the position they were in. She tugged against his hand. He released her as if he’d been burned.

She began cleaning the scrapes on his arm. After a long, tense minute of silence, she spoke. 

“Thelonious Jaha was best friends with my father.” She said without emotion. “They’d known each other since they were teenagers. So, you’d be surprised when you found out he was responsible for my dad’s death.” She pressed down, hard, on his skin. He let out a tight, short groan, but didn’t say anything.

“You’d be even more surprised,” she continued through gritted teeth, “when Abigail Griffin, the white light of the city, was marrying one of the most corrupt men on the west coast. And suddenly, you’re a target. Because they already killed the son of that corrupt man, your own best friend, simply for existing, and now they want to kill you too. So you’re running away to a smaller city, where you think no one will know your name.” She pulled away from him, looking up and into his eyes. He was looking at her in that way he had before, as if trying to burn her core.

“What a sickening surprise it was,” she said icily, “that somehow, someone still managed to discover who you are, even though you tried so hard to hide it.”

He was silent, but his eyes flickered across her face, taking in every inch of her. She felt naked, as if she just bore her soul to him. She hadn’t even told him the half of it, yet it had been more than she’d ever told anyone.

She hated him.

“You’re done.” She put her first aid kit into her bag. “Try not to get yourself killed.”

She left without another word.

~.~

“So what’s up with you and Lexa?” 

Octavia leaned against the ropes on the side of the ring, nonchalantly questioning Clarke about her love life while Bellamy sparred with a guy in the middle of a full-blown crowd. He waited three weeks before getting into another fight. At least this one had some rules.

“Nothing.” Clarke replied shortly. She watched Bellamy closely, noticing how he was sloppier on his feet. Was he just quick and nimble when he was fighting women? Did anyone else notice that?

“Nothing as in, you guys broke up?” Octavia prompted.

“We were never really together in the first place.” Clarke squeezed the ropes tightly as Bellamy was knocked in the cheek.

“But whatever you two had is over?” 

“Yeah,” She said, just loud enough for Octavia to hear, “I guess so.”

It wasn’t like something bad had happened between them. The same thing that always happened with Clarke happened-she got attached, hid it really well, and then ran away at the first sign of commitment. Lexa could have loved her she knew that and she didn’t know if she could love her back. But she was damn close to it. That much she did know. 

When Bellamy pulled through, on the brink of collapsing as the ref held up his arm in victory, she climbed over the ropes and threw his free arm over her shoulder. It was routine, how he leaned into her as they made their way out of the light and through the crowd. Blood dribbled from his lips, but he still managed to murmur quietly into her ear when they broke through the throngs of people and hit the quiet.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

She gripped his waist tightly. “Me too.”

He sagged against her as she sat him down. “Jaha’s men killed my mom.”

She paused, steadying herself against the table in the room. “Oh.” Was the only noise she could make.

“She was collateral damage. I was seventeen.” He slurred. “Octavia was ten.”

When she didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, he simply said, “I’ve been fighting ever since.” Before passing out on the table. She had to steady her hands as everyone filtered into the room.

 

_After_

 

“Have you talked to your mom?” He asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to talk to her?”

“Her husband’s men are the reason I’m blind, so, no, not really.”

He pulled her between his legs on the couch and wrapped his arms around her, not saying another word.

She closed her eyes.

 

_Before_

 

He was aggressive. She’d known that from the beginning. But she was finally aware of it when he was shoving her against a wall in a fit of rage and searing her with his lips.

Neither of them knew where it had come from. They hated each other, that a known fact. But she had been leaning against the brick wall outside the warehouse and he was watching her with dark eyes. She had looked at him, asked, “So what, you’re just planning on dying when you’re thirty?”

And he said, “Yeah, something like that,” before pressing himself against her and kissing her hard enough to bruise. God, she didn’t understand what it was, but she shoved her hands into his hair and parted her lips against his and moaned at an embarrassing volume when his teeth nipped her lip.

She could’ve remained against that wall for the rest of the night, letting him consume her and leave nothing behind except ash. But Raven was yelling for them, Octavia joining her in a drunken voice, and he was backing away with a look that said he was nowhere near done with her.

~.~

Despite how often they saw each other, he didn’t manage to get her alone until a week later after a night out with Miller, her friend Monty they were trying to set him up with, Octavia and Raven. They got pizza and threw paper wads at the TV when CNN reporters came on until they changed it to sports. Then Bellamy and Raven almost clawed each others eyes out when they favored different teams, and Raven was about to challenge him to beer pong in the middle of that very restaurant when the guy behind the counter reluctantly told them he had to close, much to their dismay. 

He’d kept his eyes on her all night, and she ignored him the best she could, but then Miller and Monty went their own way, hitting it off the instant they met, Raven and Octavia wanted to get drinks, and Clarke told them she was turning in for the night.

“I’ll walk you back to your place.” Bellamy said without question. Octavia simply threw him a weird look before letting Raven drag her down the street.

The second they were around the corner his hands were on her hips, lips latching to her neck, and it took everything in her to remind herself to breathe.

And when they managed to make it to her apartment, him tearing her shirt off and kissing his way down her chest as the door latched closed, she told him between heavy breathes, “This can’t happen again.”

He smiled against her breast, “Whatever you say, princess.”

She told herself hours in that she’d meant it couldn’t happen again after that night. When she was lying on her bed, him pressing his lips to the skin of her inner thigh, she told herself it didn’t count. When his tongue flattened against her clit, she raised her fist to her mouth and chanted in her head _just tonight, just tonight._

When he pulled her up onto his lap, both of them exhausted but unable to stop, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rocked against his hips and did everything she could to not think about how tomorrow she would pretend this never happened and never touch him again.

But in the morning, when she ached and felt a throbbing pain in her head, she simply buried her face into his chest and let him tighten his arms around her.

Raven didn’t do anything except lean against the door to Clarke’s room and say, “Seriously?” 

Bellamy threw a pillow at her head.

 

 _After_

 

Octavia stuck a cigarette between Clarke’s lips and lit it for her. “Try not to burn yourself.” She said before lighting her own.

Clarke held onto the cigarette for dear life.

“So are you and Bellamy just going to pretend nothing changed?” Octavia forced her way into Clarke’s head as if they were in the fighting pit.

“We’re not pretending anything.” Clarke merely replied and slid her hand along the table until she found her iced coffee. The straw hit her nose as she raised it to her lips.

“Yeah, you’re not acting as if you guys never broke up and are back to acting as if you’re going to be together forever and get married.” Octavia said flatly. The legs of her chair scraped against concrete.

“We were never technically dating, O.”

“No, we’ve already had this conversation. About Lexa. She was different. This is Bellamy we’re talking about.” She spoke as if Clarke was a child. 

She sucked in smoke and tried not to get annoyed. “He’s only doing this until I’m no longer a train wreck.” 

“No, he’s doing this because he’s sort of obsessed with you and has been since you climbed into that damn boxing ring after he got his ass kicked. He didn’t want to break up, you know.”

“Yeah,” she snapped, “I know, okay? I got it, I’m the fucking ice princess with attachment issues, but it wasn’t just because of that.” She paused. “It’s complicated.”

“I know.” Octavia sighed. “Believe me, I get why you did it.” She shifted, her elbows hitting the table. “All I’m saying is that you are a train wreck, and you’re going to be a train wreck for the rest of your life. Therefore, he will follow you to the fucking grave because when he loves someone, he doesn’t let them go. Ever.”

“He didn’t love me.”

“You sure about that?”

She heard the cars zooming by, the footsteps of people walking along the sidewalk. A door chimed as someone stepped outside. They were carrying a pastry. Music played in the coffee shop they sat outside of. Something jazzy.

She forgot what life was like before being forced to live off of four senses instead of five. She forgot how it felt to just see someone. She forgot the patterns of Bellamy’s freckles along his skin, the shape of the birthmark on Raven’s leg, the complex color of Octavia’s eyes, the tattoos on Lincoln’s back.

But she smelled the lightest traces of vanilla in Octavia’s hair, the scent of her laundry detergent. She memorized the feeling of the moles on Bellamy’s arm, ones that were easier to shape into constellations. She ran her hand through Raven’s hair, over her eyebrows, along her lashes. 

She wondered what it would be like, to be touched again. Bellamy would be gentle, he would drive her crazy and it would make her scream, but it’d be both good and excruciating. She wondered if the heightened feeling of him running his fingers along her skin was just because he hadn’t touched her like that in so long or because she felt everything ten times stronger now.

Including emotions. Emotions became a sense of their own.

“He can’t love me.” Clarke said into the air. 

“But he will anyways.” Octavia finished for her.

Clarke accepted it with a dark feeling in her chest, one that threatened to choke.

 

 _Before_

 

They didn’t talk about it.

She knew they should, Raven kept telling her they should, and Octavia hadn’t found out yet, but it only a matter of time.

Especially since Bellamy was very, very bad at being discreet.

He kissed her tiredly but passionately when she patched him up after a fight; he kissed her when she was at the gym with his sister just down the hallway. He cornered her against that damn brick wall and slipped his hand into her jeans, smiling against the crook of her neck when she held back a moan as he curled two fingers inside her.

He was close to giving it away one night. She joined him, Lincoln, Murphy and Miller for what was supposed to be some sort of guys night but ended up being a 4+1 when Clarke showed up to drop something off for Lincoln and they convinced her to stay. She watched, unimpressed as they played pool. He kept looking up at her as he bent forward, and she sent him the iciest glare she could.

Those men could barely walk two feet in the city without someone who held a grudge finding them. This time it was a group of guys whose friend had once been put in the hospital by Lincoln, long ago. Despite that it was a common occurrence with unlicensed boxers, they didn’t seem to care.

When they started creating “polite conversation” with their intentions obviously displayed, Clarke edged her way towards the exit. She wasn’t a trained fighter, and she was not about to get in the way when they started throwing punches.

That is until one took notice of her and slithered a hand around her waist. Then she punched him herself.

It must’ve been a surprise, having the petite blonde who looked absolutely bored the whole night throw the first punch. Either way, the second his hand touched her, polite conversation was over and the guys were apologizing to the bartender as they dragged their newfound opponents outside. 

Then she was closing the tab with bruised knuckles, the same bartender asking if she was okay. She said weakly, “You should see the other guy,” and got outside just in time to see Bellamy slam a man against the wall.

She really, really hated how turned on she was when she saw blood dripping from his lip. It was extremely unfair that she kept getting attracted to the people in this crowd. They were so fucking bloody all the time. 

The man she’d punched earlier had gotten a decent beating from Bellamy. She crossed her arms and waited patiently for him to get over his ego. He did earlier than she expected.

“I guess you’re all coming home with me.” Clarke said glumly when they all came away from the fight with bruised faces and sheepish grins. “Dammit you guys, Raven has a boy over, not cool.”

But she had a small medical supply at her apartment, so she led them home and called Raven three times, getting a very flustered voice of a woman who sounded very unlike Raven answering.

“I’ve picked up some trash.” Clarke said, and smirked at the twitch of Bellamy’s jaw.

“Great.” Raven’s flustered voice dissolved and was replaced with an unimpressed, monotone one. She hung up without another word.

Later that night, after meeting Raven’s potential boyfriend Wick who didn’t even look the slightest bit bothered at the sight of four men covered in cuts and bruises, and after Clarke patched each one up the best she could, she wordlessly pulled Bellamy into her room. She stripped down to a t-shirt and he to his boxers and they silently fell into bed.

Before she fell asleep, she said, “I totally had that guy.”

Bellamy’s lips ran across her forehead. “Yeah, you totally did.” He said honestly.

She smiled into his skin.

~.~

Octavia found out the next day.

She waltzed into the apartment, not even the slightest bit surprised when she saw Bellamy sitting at the table. When he stared at her in confusion, she shrugged. “Lincoln.”

“Typical.” Clarke said from the kitchen.

Once Octavia found out, everyone else did too.

It should’ve pissed her off, but while the sneaking around had been hot for a time, she was sort of relieved that he didn’t have to tug her into a secluded corner to even hug her now. She kept telling herself it was simple, nothing serious, but the people around them sort of decided it was without asking.

Murphy claimed he called it. Miller hit him over the head with a book and said, “Who was the one who noticed Bellamy’s tolerance of her and asked her to be his cutman? Who, Murphy?”

Lexa, who had started dating a girl from her day job, smiled smugly and said, “Not surprised.”

And god, she was slipping. She was clinging to slick rocks and quickly losing her grip. Every time he fucking smiled at her she got all weird and bothered. She had told herself before it was simple sexual attraction. But then he knew how she took her coffee, and he was pulling her into the ring in his free time and making her hit blockers, being so patient with her she wanted to punch him and make him mad. She was at his apartment more often than hers, which Raven appreciated because Wick went from being a potential boyfriend to her actual, gross boyfriend.

When Clarke pointed that out, Raven gave her a look of death. “You have no right to talk.” 

She didn’t bring it up again.

Oh, how she’d hated him. She used to hate him with everything she could. He was always pressing her, asking personal questions about her life, antagonizing her every chance she got. Yet he stood still when she patched him up, and he looked at her strangely all the damn time. Maybe that was the sign, the way his eyes sort of widened as if he was trying to take her all in.

She didn’t catch it, and she didn’t care. He kissed her with fire and whispered poetry into her ear at night. He was a pathetic romantic and she drank in every bit of it.

She heard the whispers of people saying they were in love. She knew he did too. Neither of them said anything about it.

 

_After_

 

Friday night found Clarke, Raven and Octavia on the couch, Clarke practicing Braille, Raven reading what she said was a car magazine while sprawled across Clarke and Octavia’s laps. The latter, meanwhile, was texting Lincoln and telling bad jokes she came across on the Internet.

“Anyone else bored?” She asked.

“No.” Raven lied.

“My brain hurts.” Clarke rubbed the back of her neck. Bellamy did it better.

“I’d assume so.” Octavia’s feet thumped against the coffee table. “Should we get pizza or Thai?”

“We’ve had pizza and Thai three times this week.” Raven complained. Her magazine fell shut and she stood. “I’m getting burgers from down the street. Your usual, Clarke?”

“Sure.” She replied. “Make sure to get extra fry sauce.”

“Always.” Raven patted her on the head and walked across the room to the front of the apartment.

“We’re going to die before we’re fifty.” Octavia said after the front door latched shut behind Raven.

“There are several reasons you could be saying this.” Clarke turned a page.

“Oh you know, take out every other day, boxing matches every other week, cigarettes, liver damage from drinking. We’re fucked.” She sounded oddly cheerful.

“What, do you take pride in having wrinkles by twenty-eight and getting brain damage?” Clarke asked, casual rather than condescending.

“You can say I told you so when I get lung cancer.” Octavia said.

“Works for me.”

Octavia sighed. The room’s only noise for the next minute was her fidgeting, unable to stay still.

“What is it, O?” Clarke forced out.

“I wanna watch a movie.” She said it like a question, as if there were a right or wrong answer.

Clarke withdrew her fingers from the pages and set the book down on the coffee table. “What’s stopping you?”

She could feel Octavia’s gaze on her. “I didn’t know if you would want to.” She answered honestly, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

Which was probably why Clarke shrugged and said, “Just make sure it’s funny.”

“Oh thank god, I’ve been wanting to watch _10 Things I Hate About You_ for like two weeks now.” She jumped up and went to the TV to get the movie started. 

Raven returned, freezing at some point when she stepped into the apartment. A large, “Huh” came from her mouth as the previews played on the screen. Some sort of facial conversation happened between her and Octavia, because then she went back to acting perfectly normal and snickered when Clarke asked how much fry sauce was on her face.

She laughed as hard at the jokes in the film as she had when she could actually see it. It was strange, only being able to listen. But Raven was a constant presence next to her, and Octavia wouldn’t shut up about how dreamy Heath Ledger was, and somehow it felt average. Not okay. Not great. Just average.

But that was better than just terrible, which was how it seemed the rest of her life would be a week ago.

 

_Before_

 

She would’ve been less surprised to see dragons hanging out in her kitchen when she entered the apartment than her mother sitting on the couch in the living room.

“How did you get in here?” Clarke was steady and calm, only because her mind hadn’t really registered that her mom was actually there.

When Abby stood, Clarke realized she wasn’t some sort of hallucination.

“Your friend let me in.” Abby said softly. Clarke started to regret keeping her past a secret.

“Does Jaha know you’re here?” She asked in a strangled voice. 

“No.” Abby shook her head. “He thinks I’m visiting a friend in Washington.”

“And you don’t think he’d have you followed?” Clarke smiled manically.

“I was careful.” Abby confirmed.

“What do you want?” She asked, gravelly and rough.

“It’s been over a year, Clarke, I didn’t know where you were, if you were even alive-” She started and stepped towards her.

Clarke backed up. “So there is a reason to be afraid for my life?”

“No!” She breathed. “I was just worried about you.”

“How did you even find me?” She hissed.

Abby’s face calmed slightly, concern filling her eyes. “Those people you’ve been surrounding yourself with-” they narrowed, “Clarke what were you _thinking_ , getting involved with that man? That street fighter, he’s dangerous.”

“How do you know about that?”

“You think one of the west coast’s best street fighters would go unnoticed?”

“He’s not some street fighter, Mom,” She protested, “He’s not some lowlife like Jaha’s men.”

“He’s an unlicensed boxer, there is hardly a difference. He’s not innocent in any of this.” Abby rushed forward. “He’s associated with people who would see Thelonious dead.”

“So that’s what you’re here for?” Clarke demanded. “To protect your precious criminal husband?”

“To protect you, Clarke!” She pleaded. “If you stay with him, with these people, you’re risking everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

Abby sighed and ran a hand through her loose wisps of hair. “Bellamy Blake may be dangerous, Clarke. But the biggest threat to him, to his family, is you.”

She stilled, staring at her mother with a mix of rage and terror. “What are you saying?” Her teeth clenched.

“If Thelonious’s enemies find out who you are, they will not hesitate to take action.” Abby straightened. “And everyone close to you will be collateral damage.”

Her lip quivered, all rage disappearing as she realized what Abby meant. The woman reached for her, but she shook her head and backed away.

“I want you to leave.” She whispered.

“Clarke-”

“Get out.” Her voice cracked.

Abby studied her a moment, and finally, defeated, she nodded. She picked her bag up off the table. When she walked past Clarke, she paused and very gently touched her cheek.

“I just want you to be safe.” She said. 

Tears slipped down her face as the door closed.

~.~

He found her curled up in bed, staring at the wall with red eyes. The mattress dipped as he seated himself beside her. “You weren’t at the gym yesterday.”

“I was busy.” She said to the plaster.

“Busy hiding in your room?” He asked drily. “Raven said you haven’t left the apartment in two days.”

“Sometimes people do that, you know. Stay in bed. Forget about the world. I heard it’s nice.”

“So you thought you’d give it a try, just for the hell of it?” He was quiet.

“Sure.” She sniffed.

She was rolled over, large hands grasping her uppers arms as he tugged her away from the wall. He sat above her, eyes searching her face for something, anything. “What’s going on with you?” He asked when he couldn’t find any sort of reaction.

“I’m tired.” She avoided his stare.

A hand came up from her arm to her face, fingers curled into her hair and his thumb tucked below her chin to raise it up. He forced her to look at him, his grasp of her scalp on the brink of being painful. She welcomed it.

“Tell me what happened.” He said lowly.

“No.”

“Clarke-”

“You don’t tell me about your mysterious Friday nights with Murphy and Lexa, I don’t tell you any more details about my past, we don’t tell each other anything that compromises one of us, right?” He didn’t reply. “Isn’t that what this is? Attachment without the baggage?” It came out harsher than she intended, but his face twitched with emotion before going cold, and that was what she wanted. 

His hand fell from her hair. “I thought so.” She said in a small voice.

But where she thought he would let her go, leave and forget they ever had this conversation so they could go back to normal, she was wrong. Because then he was kissing her, pressing her into the pillow and grasping her face with both his hands. Despite everything she let his lips crush her. She raised a shaky hand to grasp his arm, and then he was tearing the blankets away from her and enveloping her body. 

Her legs wrapped around his hips and he ran his tongue along the roof of her mouth. She sighed and tipped her head back. He tugged against her scalp and his teeth were on her throat, grazing along her pulse and eliciting a small groan from her lips. 

“I would tell you everything,” he murmured against her skin, “if you asked.”

She swallowed and stared at the ceiling. “Even if it got you killed?”

He pulled away to look at her. “Oh Clarke.” He breathed. “Being near you is enough to get me killed.”

The words made her throat tighten and lungs threaten to collapse. But he kissed her again, hard and desperate. She wrapped her arms around him, ran a hand through his hair and let go. Let go of her mother and everything that came with that interaction, let go of what Bellamy said, and let go of her fearing mind.

He dipped a hand between them and slipped into her underwear with ease. Her breathing hitched as his fingers ran between her folds before pushing two inside her. She stifled a moan, but then he was curling them and twisting, bringing her close to the edge within seconds and she let out a small gasp when his thumb traced over her clit. 

His fingers were gone in an instant, instead gripping her hips as he pushed her pants down and off. Then they ran along her legs, tracing patterns that left goose bumps. Her own hands slid down to his belt, fingers shaking as she worked to get it undone. He pressed wet kisses against the skin above the V of her shirt and helped her hands push his jeans and briefs down. Neither of them bothered trying to remove the other’s shirt before he was hooking an arm under her leg and burying himself in her.

She’d always been one who tried to keep quiet. It was habit, had been with every person she had been with before. But suddenly he was there, surrounding her and making everything seem so much _more_ , and so he rocked his hips against her and she would choke on a moan before giving in, letting it fall from her lips and fill the small room. She didn’t know if Raven was home, she didn’t care. He nipped at her lip and she responded by letting out a high, strangled noise that made him groan loudly.

He never kept quiet. Sometimes it would be simple heavy breathing but when she clenched around him he didn’t hide it as he moaned against her skin and it drove her fucking crazy.

She hooked her other leg tighter around him and he raised it high, sinking in deeper. Breathing became harder. She arched her back, pressing their clothed chests together. The shirt didn’t stop him from grazing his teeth along her breast through the cloth, and her arms tightened around him, tugging him closer in desperation.

“Bell-” she breathed as he ran a hand down her stomach. He held her down and pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit. “Bellamy,” she keened.

His other hand gripped her hip so hard she knew it’d leave bruises and it only drove her closer to him. She raised her neck to meet his lips and he responded, both of them panting. Sweat trickled down her back and the shirt stuck to her skin. 

She came with a breathy moan she didn’t think he heard before, and his teeth bit into the crook of her neck, hard, as he followed. They lay intertwined together, his head between her breasts and her hands running through his hair tiredly. 

By the time Raven got back, thankfully having been gone the whole time, he’d made her come with his tongue and when they showered off the sweat he took her once more against the cool tile in the bathroom. 

When Bellamy was on the phone with Octavia, Raven cornered Clarke in the kitchen. “Did you tell him about your mom?” She asked firmly.

She turned to put a glass in the dishwasher. “No.” 

“Whose decision was that?”

She glanced at Bellamy, a small smile gracing his lips as he talked to his sister. His eyes were studying a painting on the wall, one of Clarke’s better works.

“Both of ours, I think.” She said quietly.

Raven followed her gaze. “Be careful.”

Clarke sighed. “I know.”

 

_After_

 

Octavia burst into Clarke’s room. “Let’s pretend someone is at the door and wants to see you.” She said loudly. “Do I let them in?”

Clarke ran her fingers along the threaded blanket covering her. “You tell me who they are first.” She said slowly.

“Uh, Lexa.” She squeaked.

Clarke’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Is there a reason we wouldn’t let her in?”

“I don’t know!” Octavia’s head hit the wall. “I just wasn’t sure.”

She found herself laughing. “Help me up, O.”

She walked into the living room, able to do so by easily touching the walls. Lexa’s voice coming from the couch told her she was already inside. So much for Octavia ‘being sure’.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.” Lexa said. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much lately.”

Clarke reached out her hand, a sign for Lexa to take it. After a moment, she did, her fingers very lightly intertwining with Clarke’s. “It’s okay.” She replied. “How’s Costia?”

Lexa let out a happy sigh, one that sounded very strange coming from her. “She’s good. Amazing, actually.”

Clarke squeezed her hand. “I’m glad.”

Lexa’s thumb ran along her knuckles, something that she used to do when they were involved. “I heard you’ve been strong, through all of this.” She laughed breathily. “It wasn’t a surprise, hearing that. You’ve always had it in you. Losing your sight wouldn’t change that, I knew.”

Coming from anyone else, she would’ve been uncomfortable, but that was how Lexa had always talked. Everyone she knew had his or her own version of being upfront and brutally honest. 

“You should’ve seen me right after it happened,” Clarke cracked a smile, “I was a mess.”

“I visited you, you know.” Lexa sounded almost shy. “It was only for a few minutes. You were asleep. Bellamy was there. I don’t think he ever left.” 

The memories from then threatened to come rushing back. She pushed them away. “Thank you.” She said and meant it.

They sat in easy silence, Lexa continuing to run her thumb along Clarke’s hand. Octavia was in Raven’s room, occasionally letting out a gleeful laugh. Raven would hit her every time she said something loudly.

“Clarke,” Lexa spoke uneasily, “you know the men who did it, right?”

On impulse her teeth clenched together. “Yeah.”

“And you thought it was because Thelonious Jaha found out where you were, who you were involved with.” She stated.

She tightened her fingers around Lexa’s, but didn’t protest. Lexa took that as confirmation.

“I looked into it.” She continued. “Jaha has had his eyes on me for years. I was worried about what it meant, him having you attacked. But, the truth is, he didn’t do it to hurt you. At least not directly.”

“What-” Clarke cleared her throat. “What are you talking about?”

“It was your mother’s idea,” Lexa explained, “to do something. She may not have come up with the details, but she wanted you safe. And you would never be, no matter where you went. The only way to prevent people from using you to get to him, was to eliminate that as a possibility.”

“I don’t understand.”

She grasped her hand tightly. “You knew it was Jaha’s men, but no one else did. Everyone thinks it was a rivaling gang or mob, someone who wanted to hurt him. So they did. You’ve been hurt, damaged permanently, and now people see you as someone who can no longer be touched, be used. Either Jaha doesn’t care about you enough, or he cares so much that coming near you would be a death sentence.”

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like she was surrounded by water. Her hand fell from Lexa’s, her body sagging against the couch cushions. “My mother knew.”

“Not directly.” Lexa said softly. “She asked Jaha to keep you safe. This was his idea of it.”

Her veins filled with fire. “He seriously thinks hurting me was some sort of favor?” Clarke snarled, anger dripping from her voice.

“Yes.” Lexa was calm. “I would never take the same measures, but I understand his intentions. He thought it was either this, or you getting killed.”

“He couldn’t just hide me in one of his safe houses? Send me off to Siberia? _Something other than fucking blinding me?_ ”

She had already been mad at Jaha, simply came to the conclusion he just wanted her dead. But him thinking it was for her safety was sickening.

Raven and Octavia came into the room then, their footsteps padding loudly along the floor. “What’s wrong?” Octavia asked.

“This is my fault.” Lexa said. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke shook her head when she heard her stand. Her hand grasped the arm of the couch. “No, you did the right thing.” Her voice calmed slightly. “I always thought he was a deranged lunatic. This just confirms it.”

“I’m sorry.” Lexa repeated.

“Your people want him dead, right?” Clarke gave a choked laugh. “If you ever get the chance, put a bullet in his head. I’ll thank you for it.” She didn’t know for sure what Lexa was involved in, but she knew it was more than just unlicensed boxing every other month.

She wanted to call her mom, ask her if she was happy with the outcome of her suggestion. When she was in the hospital Abby had made contact, asked if she was all right. She must’ve been afraid to come, not that Clarke could blame her.

After Lexa left, Raven put on the Breakfast Club and made tacos. Octavia seated Clarke on the floor, back against the couch and between Octavia’s legs so she could braid her hair. 

“I didn’t know Lexa was the head of a gang.” Raven said from the kitchen.

“She recently came into it.” Octavia informed them. “There’s some sort of line for the presidency or some shit. Their president recently died, she took over.”

“Glad you got out of that one when you did, huh, Clarke?” Raven asked lightly.

“I don’t know.” Clarke said. “Imagine it: Lexa the heartless crime duchess and me, the blind ice princess, together ruling the city.”

“Lexa? Heartless?” Octavia said with disbelief. “She’s got so many pent up emotions if you poked her with a pin she’s probably burst.”

“It’s an illusion.” Raven agreed. “I think you go better with the angry freckled guy though. Much less intense.”

Octavia scoffed. “Yeah, totally not intense at all.”

Clarke smiled to herself.

 

 _Before_

 

It could’ve been okay.

He took her to this art museum once; one with artwork that made her heart squeeze and paintings that had a load of history behind them, which he explained in great detail, his hand never letting go of hers. 

She didn’t draw him that often, couldn’t really. With Octavia it was easy, she couldn’t get enough of it. But with him, the curve of his nose was never right, the freckles never fit, and his hair always looked weird. It upset her immensely, and finally one time she drew him as a cartoon character and he laughed about it for half an hour.

“You’re disgusting.” Octavia would tell them. Raven would call her a hypocrite.

They went to Floyds on Wednesdays after she got off work and before he started his shift. She’d usually throw balled up paper napkins at him while he tried to read. He’d just grab her hand and hold it down without looking up. 

It could’ve been okay. 

But then he was in the emergency room with broken ribs and a concussion, his eye swollen and stitches in his forehead. Octavia was crying, Miller was pissed, and Clarke only felt pure, raw fear.

It happened too often. He got himself into tricky situations that ended with someone almost getting killed and her telling the doctors it was a mugging.

The guy wore a hood. Can’t remember how tall he was. It all happened so fast. No idea if he had gloves on. Don’t know what he sounded like.

Three days later she’s in his apartment shoving things into a bag, him watching her.

“What are you doing?” He asked clear of emotion, fully aware of what was happening.

“Getting my stuff.” She said.

“Why?” He crossed his arms.

She turned to look at him. “I can’t do this.” 

His eyes darkened. “Can’t do _what_?”

“This! Whatever the fuck this is!” She gestured to the air with her free hand. 

“Whatever the fuck this-” he sucked in a deep breath as if he were trying to keep calm. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying that it’s not working.” She sighed, eyes wide and pleading. “I can’t keep watching you get hurt, half the time trying to protect me from things I don’t need protecting from."

“Are you fucking serious, Clarke?” His voice deepened. 

“You get beat up for a living!” Hers rose. “For a hobby! It’s not even legal! And you’re getting involved with these fights that could kill you, sometimes for no rational reason, sometimes because of me. If you’re going to keep doing that-I can’t stand by and watch it happen.” 

“So you’re going to end this without even talking to me about it?” He took three steps and was suddenly right in front of her, head lowered as he glared into her eyes. “You don’t get to do that.” He growled.

“Actually I do.” She hissed.

“If you want me to stop fighting all you have to do is talk to me!” He got louder. “You want to keep this going? You gotta fucking say something.”

“I’m not trying to do that, Bellamy.” She said weakly. “I’m trying to stop this.”

“No.” He shook his head. “What’s the real reason here, huh?” His hands came up to grip her arms. “You know I would do anything you asked, so why are you really doing this?”

She didn’t say anything. 

“Clarke.” He ground out. “You can’t break this off and not tell me why. I won’t let you.”

She glared as menacingly as she could. “You don’t own me.” 

Something registered in his head, because his eyes were widening and his lips parting, and he backed away. His shoulders sagged but he kept looking at her, hopelessness filling his gaze. 

He didn’t own her. He knew that. He also knew that he wasn’t in a place to consider being hers. What exactly were they?

Nothing, she told herself. Absolutely nothing.

 

 _After_

 

He came over after work when she was alone. She’d managed to get around the apartment on her own. She could even get cookies out of the cupboard, but only after getting crackers on accident three times. 

He made sandwiches, and she ended up with pesto aioli on her face that he had to wipe off with a napkin, chuckling lightly the whole time.

“I’m adorable.” She said darkly.

“Absolutely precious.” He agreed.

They turned on the Daily Show and he let her try and connect the moles on his arm with a pen. He said it ended up being a terrible mess of scribbles, but she liked to at least pretend he was lying.

Raven ended up staying out late, leaving Clarke smelling gross and wanting to sleep but needing a shower. When she said as much out loud, Bellamy pulled her off the couch and plainly replied, “Okay.”

“I can’t shower by myself yet.” She added.

“Okay.” He repeated and pulled her to the bathroom.

“Bellamy-”

He stopped and held her arms. “If you don’t want a shower, that’s fine. Just give the word.”

“N-no.” She stuttered. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” He asked patiently.

“I just-we haven’t-”

“We don’t have to.” 

She took a deep breath and clenched her eyes shut. “No, I’m disgusting.”

Without another word he led her into the bathroom. 

They used to shower together all the time, although three quarters of it ended up with at least one of them coming away flushed and weak on their legs. Though there had been times when they were too tired, usually on Mondays or after hectic nights in the pit, and they would simply lean against each other until the hot water run out.

It was unfamiliar but normal. He did it all very routinely, yet it was slow and soft and intimate. The whole time she felt on edge only to be more at ease than she’d been in months. He ran a soapy cloth along her body, and they both stilled for a minute when he subconsciously ran it between her legs like he used to. She held both his shoulders, her forehead against his collarbone. His other arm was wrapped around her waist, fingers digging into her skin. Their breath stilled as he slowly ran the washcloth up.

After it was gone, they stayed there, leaning into each other. 

“Bellamy,” she breathed.

And he was lining his lips with hers, kissing her with everything he had. She gasped into him, lips parting enough to let his tongue run along hers. Her nails dug into his shoulders, his wet and slick skin pressing against her own. When the tips of her breasts brushed his chest they both groaned softly. 

Despite the burning between her legs and the hardening of him against her thigh, he didn’t touch her. They simply wrapped their arms around one another and pressed sloppy kisses against skin. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her temples and chin, kissed every inch above her collarbone, sucked between her shoulder and neck. 

He set her lips on fire with his wet, parted ones. They latched onto each other and didn’t let go. Neither of them noticed when the water began to go cold.

Until finally he broke and pulled away, saying nothing for a long moment. She could feel him just looking at her, with her empty unseeing eyes, red face and mess of hair.

They watched the Daily Show until two in the morning. He helped her pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and then pulled her into his arms and traced patterns into her back until she fell asleep.

 

_Before_

 

One Blake was missing. The other had an arm thrown over Clarke’s shoulder while her own arm was wrapped around their waist.

“What were you thinking, O?” Clarke asked as they broke through the crowd. 

Blood bubbled from Octavia’s lips. “What doesn’t kill you,” she said through a swelling jaw, “makes you stronger.”

“You should be a spokesperson.” Clarke grumbled as she set her on the table. 

Lincoln was gone; making sure Bellamy didn’t wind up dead. Raven was with Wick, and everyone was tense. Their best fighter had disappeared, leaving behind no sign of return. While Clarke had become a part of their family, she was the reason he left. 

Anya, when she found out, shoved Clarke against a locker and said, “You’ve got a lot of guts, you know that?”

Indra had to pull her off, saying Bellamy was weak for letting something like this get to him in the first place. Only a while after Anya let it go, but her lips still thinned whenever she laid eyes on her.

One of Lexa’s friends had a source that had seen him. When she told Octavia, Lincoln took off the second he could. That was three days ago.

He’d been missing for two weeks. He was supposed to fight that night, and when you missed a scheduled fight, people got angry.

Miller was going crazy. He didn’t blame Clarke, “You’re not responsible for him being a fucking dumbass.”

But he’d missed a match, one that Octavia had replaced in a way that was legendary and stupid.

When she climbed into the ring, Bellamy’s opponent saw her and laughed. Octavia’s eyes simply narrowed, and she said, “What, you afraid of a Blake? I’ve been fighting since I was ten years old.” She rolled her neck. “I could kick your ass, old man.”

He stopped laughing. Pride got the best of both of them. She didn’t win, but he didn’t either. They both got their asses kicked, at least a little bit.

“You’re an idiot.” Clarke told her honestly, just like she’d told Bellamy before. 

“I know.” Octavia lay down and closed her eyes.

~.~

Three months later he was waltzing into the gym as if nothing happened, and well, nothing had happened. They were nothing.

He seemed to accept that, because he looked at her, smiled his usual polite smile, and then was hitting a punching bag the rest of the time she was there. Which wasn’t long. She suddenly felt as if being at the gym was wrong, like she shouldn’t be anywhere that was technically his.

Of course, no one let her really slip away. She lived with Raven after all, who knew exactly what Clarke was thinking and would simply force her out of the apartment for pizza with Monty and Miller.

One time she went to a match because Raven said Lincoln was fighting, and that was a special occasion no one wanted to miss. So she reluctantly went and stood further away from the ring than she had ever been. But when it was over she still let Octavia drag her into the backroom, and then she saw Bellamy with a black eye and bloody nose.

She helped Nyko fix Lincoln up until he pushed her towards Bellamy, saying, “Make sure he doesn’t leave without getting looked at.” Completely uncaring of their personal issues.

She cautiously stepped towards him, and he sort of just sat there as she raised his face up and wiped the blood away. Neither of them talked, he didn’t protest once. At one point though she was checking his ribs and when her fingertips ran along the tattoo on his chest, he visibly shivered. She pulled away quickly, and he lowered his shirt just as fast and stood, giving a quiet thanks before walking away.

He wouldn’t look at her the rest of the night.

And suddenly their lives was pretending they didn’t tiptoe around one another, and ignoring any knowing looks people gave them. At a bar when everyone was pretending not to be concerned, she lightly punched him in the chest and he ruffled her hair to show that they were perfectly fine.

But her mom called one night, sounding panicked as she asked, “You’re okay, you’re okay, right?” And the first thing she wanted to do when she hung up was call him. Not because she felt she needed protecting, but because he knew the most about her past out of all of them. Raven was slowly piecing it together, and Lexa may or may not have asked her a suspicious question at one point, but she had told him part of it. That was more than anyone else knew.

She constantly felt as if she were being watched. Like there was a shadow that she couldn’t see. She started going to the gym more and practiced with Lincoln and Indra. Anya was good too, because she purposefully did everything she could to make Clarke’s life difficult, and she appreciated it.

It was nothing compared to the rest of them, but she felt the slightest ease in her chest whenever she hit the punching bag, or when she did better at a maneuver Lincoln showed her. She caught Bellamy watching her once, when she managed to get a blow to Lincoln’s gut, who then grinned and said, “Nice shot.” 

Bellamy looked away before she could catch him in the act. 

There was still an emptiness in her life, a void remaining unfilled. Adding on to that was the constant paranoia, one that was completely irrational, she knew.

Her mother said she would keep her from getting killed. She tried to remind herself that was enough.

 

_After_

 

“Do you miss it?”

Her head thumped against his chest. “Miss what?”

“Drawing.” He ran the tips of his fingers along her hairline. 

She hummed lightly. “Every day.”

His thumb stroked along her cheek. “Maybe you could try it. I mean, it would probably look like a blob of different colors, but people dig that stuff.”

She poked him in the ribs. “Some of those blobs are very artfully done.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He didn’t sound sure.

She snorted and turned so her cheek was flattened against his chest. He continued to shape her face with his fingers. They lay tangled in the blankets of her bed, not really doing anything. Like usual.

It was familiar. And normal.

“People ask about us.” He filled the silence.

She inhaled deeply. “I know.”

“Octavia doesn’t like it.”

“Octavia doesn’t like any of this.” She said.

“She thinks you’ll be the death of me.”

“Yeah, from all this nothing we’re doing.” She waved a hand around.

His chest vibrated with laughter. “Good point.”

“Besides,” he murmured quietly, “fighting is probably going to be the thing that gets me in the end.”

Her nails subconsciously dug into his skin. “Bellamy,” she said weakly.

“You were right.” He seemed to struggle saying it. “You were right about it all. This life. My decisions.”

“I was being selfish.”

He barked out a dry laugh. “No, you were worrying about my safety.”

They’d never mentioned it, everything that happened between them. When she woke up in the hospital, and he was there, they completely forgot about it all. If anything, they were more intense and close then before. It scared her.

Suddenly she was aware of the position they were in, him with his hand under her shirt and resting on the small of her back, her leg completely thrown across his body, hand splayed against his collarbone. She wanted to see him, to see his freckles and the darkness of his eyes, to see if he was looking at her in the way that made her stomach tighten in knots. 

And suddenly she was blinking very hard as tears threatened to leak from her eyes. 

He noticed, probably from the small sniffles developing. His hand cupped her cheek and raised her head. “What’s wrong?” He sounded desperate.

“Nothing.” She tried to shrug away, but his hand tightened.

“Clarke.” His voice was strangled. “C’mon.”

She sucked in a shaky breath and said weakly, “I can’t see you.” 

He brought her close, rolling them so they were lying on their sides facing one another. Both hands went up to her face and he was saying “Oh, Clarke” in sad whispers. Their noses bumped against each other and she wrapped a hand around his wrist to hold him close.

“What do I do?” She asked. “How do I-how do I do this?”

“I don’t know.” He replied, his breath fanning against her face. “But I’m here, I’m right here.”

She leaned closer and didn’t know where her lips would land, but he did. He still cupped her cheeks as he kissed her. He rose up, ran his thumb along her jaw and licked into her mouth with such slowness that tears were streaming out of her eyes. But she simply pulled him closer, her hands outlining every inch of his body. 

They ran along his arms, tracing the veins beneath his skin. Her toes glided up his calves, legs curving around his hips. They moved slowly, her absorbing every inch of him all at once, while he took her in bit by bit.

He started with her lips, her neck, behind her ear and her eyelids. He removed her shirt with slow hands, running his fingers along her hipbones. 

She had been worried before, about him being soft and gentle and treating her as if she were fragile. But despite the slow touches, they were firm and certain. It gave her a feeling of not being overwhelmed, yet being completely consumed. 

He took his time kissing up her thighs, winding their fingers together as he nosed at her core. She let out unsteady pants, eyes wide-open and seeing nothing but darkness. But he was there, hand twined with hers and lips sucking her clit at a pace that made her last a short period of time. 

He nipped at the skin along her stomach as she came down from her high, rising up until she was tasting herself on his tongue. When she felt him against her belly, hot and hard, she quivered.

“Bell,” she whispered, unsure.

“I know.” He kissed her softly. He pressed her into the sheets. “I’ve got you.”

He repeated it as she pulled him closer, and again when he was deep inside her. He said it into her ear as he pushed leg up, as he wrapped himself around her and tilted her at an angle that made her whimper. 

When she was gasping with uncontrolled breaths he ran his thumb across her lip and said “I love you,” so quietly she could barely hear. 

But she did, because he said it again as he grazed that spot inside her and she was falling. He said he loved her into her ear when he jerked against her. And when they were a mess of limbs with her fingers never ending the journey across his skin he said it one more time, lips pressed into her hair.

 

_Before_

 

“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.” Abby said into the phone. “I promise.”

“Like you kept Dad and Wells safe?” Clarke asked.

Her mother was silent.

“I know.” Clarke agreed. “There was nothing we could’ve done. But there is something you can do.” 

“What?” Abby’s voice trembled.

“Stay out of my life. You trying to protect me is the thing that’s going to get me killed.”

She hung up without another word, hoping more than anything this wasn’t her pride taking control of her rationality.

 

_After_

 

She remembered pain. Searing pain in her eyeballs that felt like it was seeping into her brain. It burned and ached and she screamed, she screamed for so long her throat lost its ability to make noise and she settled for struggling, heavy breathes as the EMT’s tried to get her to talk, to tell her what was happening.

All she could say was, I can’t see, over and over and over.

She didn’t remember what happened, when she went blind. She remembered their faces, recognized them as men who were around whenever Jaha was. Was that what he wanted? For the last thing she saw to come with the realization that he was responsible for this?

When she awoke to darkness, it was the kind that she knew would never fade. A bandage was wrapped around her eyes, but she knew it wasn’t the reason she couldn’t see. She still felt it, the burn.

A strangled whimper erupted from her throat, which was still weak and unable to make loud noises. She tried to move her arms and felt a pricking feeling in one. Her hand flew down to feel a needle stuck under her skin. She felt the hospital gown, the blankets, heard the beeping in the background. Her hands flew up to her face to feel the bandage. A small sob poured through her lips.

She could hear someone in the room, right next to her. They shifted, going from being completely still to loud and moving. “Clarke?” The person asked.

“I can’t see.” She whispered.

“Clarke, it’s okay.”

“I can’t see.” She said louder, her voice hoarse.

“Clarke I’m here, I’m right here.”

She said it, over and over in loud sobs, unable to comprehend anything else. Her heart rate picked up and her body was shaking. 

Large, warm hands grasped her own and they were leaning forward, pressing her hands against their face. “Clarke, it’s me.” He breathed. He ran her hands along his face, making her feel the shape of his jaw, his lips and nose. He closed his eyes so she could trace his eyelids.

“Bellamy?” She managed to say his name between quiet sobs. Her body stopped shaking so hard.

“I’m right here.” He kept her hands on his face, his cheeks moving and lips parting as he spoke. 

Her breathing calmed and she slowly relaxed into the pillow. “I can’t see.” She said again.

His lips brushed against her wrist. “It’s okay.”

There was the sound of footsteps, and the nurse was in the room, checking her heart rate and asking her questions. When he tried to get her to let go of Bellamy, she clung to him tighter, until the nurse apparently understood her desperation and let her keep a hold his Bellamy’s hands as he worked around her.

“Please don’t leave.” She said in her gravelly voice once the nurse was gone.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

_Before_

 

There was this painting at the museum back home that she loved to look at as a child. Her father would take her there every Wednesday for a month so she could stare at it. It was called Time and the Monuments, painted by Eugune Berman. He painted it during World War II with the idea that Europe would be in ruins by the time it was over. She didn’t really know why it intrigued her so much, nor did Jake Griffin, but she loved it anyway.

When she was ten she asked for art classes, and her mother was reluctant at first but Jake ended that quickly by saying, “You’re not going to teach her to be a doctor or a politician when she’s ten.” He signed her up for everything she asked for, varying from ceramics to printmaking. By the time she was fifteen she was mastering charcoal but did everything else as a simple hobby. 

When she was seventeen, a year after her father died, she got a Gold Medal from the Scholastic Art Awards for one of her drawings. It was featured in one of the larger, well-known galleries in the city. Wells had come and made her show him every painting and describe it with great detail. 

He told her she should study art in college. She told him Abby wanted her to study medicine. 

“Well, my dad wants me to major in international relationships and affairs.” He grinned. “Let’s just run away and be starving artists.”

“Where would you wanna go?”

“New York, obviously.” He said sarcastically. When she threw her head back and laughed, he continued. “Maybe somewhere in the Northwest. I heard they appreciate artists with a lack of motivation.”

“Or San Francisco. We could live in a sketchy apartment in Oakland and commute on the train to work as waiters and baristas.” She said dreamily.

“And you would marry some chick with thick eyeliner who could punch your teeth in.” He added.

“And you would never marry because you’d think every girl was too good for you.” She finished solemnly. He shoved her into a wall.

A month later he was dead, shot by a member of a gang that had a dark past with Jaha.

Everything that man touched seemed to turn to ash, just like her.

 

After

 

When Bellamy told her where they were going was a surprise, she expected it to be something like the forest. Instead, it was the boxing gym.

“Wow.” She said when they entered, his hand pulling her forward. “I’m swooning.”

He shouted across the gym to whoever was there, which turned out to just be Lincoln, Anya, Octavia and Miller. It hadn’t opened to the public yet, seeing as it was still morning. They all called back their greetings.

“Can one of you lovely ladies help her get changed?” Bellamy asked. Clarke stopped walking, turning her head towards his voice.

“What?” She asked in confusion.

“You think you’re getting out of training that easily?” He said smugly. “Octavia, think you can handle her?”

“I don’t know, she could probably kick my ass.” Her tone was serious. He tossed the bag at her, and from the sound of it she caught it easily. Then he was pushing Clarke towards her, and Octavia was grasping her arm lightly and steering her in the direction of the locker room.

“Is he serious?” She scowled as Octavia helped her out of her pants.

“Completely. He’s been talking about it for weeks.” Octavia tapped her leg to tell her to lift it. She did, and then took over tugging the stretchy pants up her thighs.

“What’s stopped him? Why now?” She shrugged out of her shirt.

“Just wanted to make sure you’d be up for it.” Octavia helped tie her hair back. 

“It’s not like I can go anywhere with it.” Clarke said uneasily.

“No, you’ll never be a superhero.” Octavia confirmed with a hint of sadness. “But when you get knocked down, you get back up. You’d be surprised at the things blind people end up capable of doing.”

“Like what?”

“I have no idea.”

Clarke snorted as they made their way back into the room.

She led her over to where everyone else was, then Bellamy was wrapping her hands for protection. “Get that damn smile off your face.” She muttered. He leaned forward and pecked her lips lightly. 

“Hey.” She found herself saying, fingers wrapping around his.

He paused his work. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” Her lips quirked up as she spoke.

He kissed her again.

When she was finished, Lincoln grasped her elbow and helped her into the right position. He placed her in front of the punching bag. “Reach out and touch it.” He told her. She did.

“Okay, now hit it.”

“That it?” She questioned.

“That’s it.” He said. She adjusted her position, bent her knees and elbows and rolled her shoulders back. Everyone watched with patience.

She thrust her fist forward, and met nothing. Miller tried to hold back the chuckle bubbling at his lips and failed. Then he let out a small grunt of pain and Anya told him to shut up.

“Here.” A pair of hands came up from behind her and grasped her waist. They moved her back gently. He adjusted her stance, told her to bend her front leg a bit more. 

“Wanna just throw the punch for me?” She asked him. He sighed, but she could make out a quiet laugh mixed in there.

She grinned. “So what’s your idea here, to make me the Daredevil this world deserves?”

His lips pressed lightly against her temple. “Just hit the bag, Clarke.” He said into her ear.

“I don’t know,” she heard Miller say off to the side, “Daredevil’s got nothing on her.”

She threw another punch. The bag shook as her fist slammed against it.

“Careful Miller.” She said lightly. “Before you know it I’ll be kicking your ass.”

“You’re adorable.” He replied.

“She’s a fighter.” Bellamy seemed to say to himself.

She hit the bag again with a grin on her face.

~.~


End file.
